


teen idol eyes

by Lint



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 15:14:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15821499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lint/pseuds/Lint
Summary: “People want a connection,” she fills in. “Music is just another way to provide one. Especially when it seems like you create it just for them.”





	teen idol eyes

 

Everyone is pretending not to stare.

 

She checks her phone for the tenth time, wondering how long she actually has to be here for it to count as an appearance. Leaning against the bar, she waits patiently for her cocktail, fingernails tapping against the surface. It's placed in front of her by the bartender, who appears as if they're holding their breath, until she takes a preliminary drink and nods her appreciation. The bartender sighs audibly in relief, as she chuckles softly to herself, twisting around to take in the crowd.

 

Eyes avert hers almost immediately, as if questioning to themselves just what she's doing here, like the party isn't being thrown by her label and attendance at such events is almost mandatory. She takes another drink, giving a practiced smile when one girl braves asking for a selfie, and complies without hesitation. Three more ask after that, and she says yes to every one, thinking back on the horrendous meeting with her publicist, who had the gall to accuse her of being unapproachable by fans.

 

Smile more. Speak more. _Be_ more.

 

As if rising to the top as the best selling solo artist her record company ever had, just wasn't enough.

 

The lights dim, and the band whose party this is, stumbles onstage. Honestly, Cheryl hadn't bothered to learn their name, assuming them to be another flash in the pan. Some group worthy of a one hit wonder, and then cast to the wayside at the release of a disastrous second album. She's seen it more than once.

 

A spotlight shines on a pink haired girl, clad in a leather jacket, with a guitar hanging at her side.

 

“Hey,” she greets the crowd, who return it with a roar. “I'm Toni, these are the Serpents. One, two, three, four!”

 

The music does not play to her tastes at all, but Toni is energetic enough to have the horde cheering every move, and the band seems competent enough to have her head nodding along at the very least. The singer, Toni, works every inch of the stage like she owns it and for a moment Cheryl second guesses her assumption about the group's lifespan in the industry. Watching the hypnotic shake her hips in rhythm with the guitar riff.

 

Watching the whole set from her perch at the bar, Cheryl is four cocktails in, when the last song is played as they exit the stage to exuberant applause and mingle with all their fans. Toni is easily lost among the masses due to her tiny stature, though two of her band mates are tall enough to be seen above, as is the drummer with that stupid hat.

 

“Beer please,” Toni requests of the bartender, suddenly appearing at Cheryl's side.

 

Pretty, Cheryl muses. In that grimy, indie rock kind of way.

 

“You know,” she starts, feeling bold from the alcohol. “If you ditched that band of yours, you could really be something.”

 

“Why the hell would I do that?” Toni replies, grabbing the bottle placed in front of her, turning to Cheryl with a look in her eye that says it's the stupidest thing she's ever heard. A look that quickly shifts to recognition, then surprise that Pop Princess Cheryl Bombshell would ever peter out such advice. Which then surprises Cheryl, when Toni doesn't make a big deal out of it.

 

“Your voice,” Cheryl goes on, leaning in. “Your stage presence. It's...”

 

Toni's eyebrow curiously lifts, as she takes a swig of her beer.

 

“Adequate,” she downplays. “I mean, far better than the music underneath, but I mean... Oh, what do I mean?”

 

Toni laughs.

 

“My question exactly.”

 

She takes another swig.

 

“I know our music is not everyone's cup of tea,” she offers up, free hand gesturing toward Cheryl. “Clearly. But maybe do me a favor and not insult it, or my band mates, at our own release party?”

 

She walks off after that, and Cheryl is so embarrassed she sneaks out of the party through the back door, then hails a cab.

 

/\

 

They meet again six weeks later, when Cheryl is out of breath exiting the stage after killing it at the VMA's, dolled up like the Queen of Hearts for her new single _Down the Rabbit Hole_. Toni stands there with her Serpents, the only one of them clapping, with the oddest smirk on her face.

 

Cheryl doesn't stop to ask just what she's smiling at, escorted swiftly back to the dressing room where she can degear from the ridiculously over sized dress that's nearly suffocating her. There's a monitor broadcasting the show inside, and as soon as Cheryl slips back into her attendee outfit, watches as Toni takes ownership of the stage that was hers to claim just moments ago.

 

The sound isn't on, but Cheryl can see once again that, Toni's movement is dialed in with the rhythm of the music. Her look is fierce, growling out lyrics that Cheryl doesn't know, the cameraman ignoring the rest of the band and focusing solely on her. That girl really has it, she muses. Having not moved at all from when her attention was caught.

 

A title card flashes on the screen once the performance is over, and Cheryl knows she should return to her seat in the audience, but instead takes a very expensive bottle of mineral water from the mini fridge and sinks into the tiny sofa.

 

She's given the people more than enough for one night, pressing the chilled glass against her forehead, and there will probably be a million questions asked why she didn't come back after her song but she can't find the energy to care.

 

A knock on the door snaps her attention toward it, having nodded off with the bottle still in her hand, and makes no move to answer when the second knock comes. The third and fourth knock come in quick succession, and she grumbles under her breathe, but goes to answer it.

 

Toni stands there with a closed fist, poised for that never delivered fifth knock, while Cheryl just regards her curiously.

 

“Can I help you?” she asks.

 

Toni's eyes dart down to red leather hot pants and matching knee high boots, a look on her face that indicates she expected the Queen's gown to still be adorned.

 

“Hey,” she says, strangely casual. As if they're mutual acquaintances who met in a hotel lobby somewhere. “I just wanted to say, you were great out there.”

 

Cheryl is strangely flattered, but unimpressed.

 

“I don't need you to tell me that,” she says, and immediately regrets it.

 

Toni clucks her tongue.

 

“Wow,” she tosses back with a roll of her eyes. “Okay then. Sorry I bothered you.”

 

She turns to leave, and Cheryl impulsively reaches out to grab the sleeve of her jacket.

 

“Wait,” she insists. “I'm sorry. That was so, so rude of me.”

 

Toni looks back over her shoulder.

 

“I would guess someone of your status would be used to getting compliments.”

 

Cheryl merely shrugs.

 

“You'd be surprised how little people actually mean them.”

 

For a moment they just look at each other.

 

“You were great too,” Cheryl goes on. “The way you work that stage-”

 

“Did you like the song?”

 

Cheryl's brow furrows.

 

“I didn't listen to the song,” she says. “But _you_ were great. Whatever it is you have, it's... It's really something.”

 

The smile Toni gives is the first genuine one Cheryl can recall seeing in quite awhile.

 

“Thanks,” she accepts easily, then points in the opposite direction with her thumb. “I should get back. The guys are waiting for me.”

 

Don't, Cheryl thinks but doesn't say, nodding instead.

 

She watches Toni walk down then hall until she disappears around a corner, and doesn't move from the doorway, the unopened bottle of mineral water still in hand.

 

/\

 

“Is something going on with you and Toni Topaz?”

 

It's the first thing Genevieve, her manager/publicist/accountant, says to her when walking into the office.

 

“Good morning to you too,” Cheryl replies instead, dodging the question, and removing the sunglasses from her eyes.

 

Genevieve is not amused, standing there with hands on her hips like an annoyed school teacher.

 

“TMZ has spotted you not once, not twice, but thrice. All in seedy dive bars across Silverlake.”

 

Cheryl is nonplussed.

 

“And you know for sure it was me?” she asks evenly.

 

Genevieve sighs loudly.

 

“Just because I didn't have breakfast this morning, doesn't mean I'm willing to swallow your bullshit.”

 

Cheryl's face sours at the comment.

 

“Maybe she just has a thing for redheads.”

 

Genevieve glares her.

 

“Oh please. As if anyone in LA is as pale as you.”

 

Cheryl takes a seat in front of the desk, waiting for Genevieve to follow, which happens after a momentary stare down.

 

“Aren't you the one who's always telling me to be more approachable?”

 

Genevieve doesn't answer.

 

“I don't see how dating someone, let alone one of the hottest rising stars in the industry, would be counterproductive.”

 

“She's bad for your image.”

 

Cheryl laughs as if she can't help it, bubbling up out of her, and causing the older woman to frown.

 

“Oh,” she laments when done. “You were serious.”

 

Genevieve sighs again.

 

“Look,” she begins. “You have a very specific audience. Not exactly known for accepting deviations from the norm.”

 

Cheryl has never thought of it like that, and frankly doesn't like how it sounds.

 

“So what? Am I only supposed to date mirror images of myself? Because that sounds easy. Just go out there and find the perfect replica of a squeaky clean candy queen.”

 

Cheryl rubs at her forehead.

 

“To be honest Gigi, I'm getting a little sick of it. Of myself.”

 

This time it's Genevieve who doesn't like how the conversation sounds.

 

“What you have, works. What you do, sells. But I'm not telling you you can't be happy.”

 

“That's exactly what you're telling me.”

 

Genevieve holds up her hands.

 

“I'm just trying to warn you. You're not as big as you think you are.”

 

Cheryl rises quickly from her seat, putting her sunglasses back on.

 

“And I sure as hell am not as small as you think I am.”

 

/\

 

Three months into whatever it is she has with Toni, the girl shows up at her door with a bottle of whiskey and her guitar case.

 

“What's that for?” Cheryl asks, stepping aside to let her in.

 

Toni hands the bottle over, walking into the living room and setting the case on the floor, then unlatches the top and pulls out a beat up looking acoustic.

 

“I wrote you a song,” she finally answers, strumming a few strings before adjusting one of the tuners.

 

Cheryl isn't sure she heard that right.

 

“I'm sorry?” she questions, a little smile pulling at her lips. “You wrote a song about me?”

 

Toni laughs softly.

 

“No,” she clarifies, still fiddling with the strings. “For you. To sing.”

 

Cheryl sits next to her, eyebrow raised as she sets the whiskey on the table.

 

“I know it's probably not the factory set conditions you're used to.”

 

Cheryl frowns at the dig.

 

“But, I don't know, I guess I thought you'd be better suited for it.”

 

Unsure of how to reply to the statement, Cheryl keeps quiet, and just listens to the chords Toni begins to strum.

 

“Okay,” Toni begins, reaching into the guitar case for a folded piece of paper. “That was the verse and chorus. I'm thinking it should go verse, chorus, verse, chorus.”

 

She points to little sections of lyrics scribbled on the page, all marked with the breakdown of the song she'd stated.

 

“Then I ease into the bridge,” she continues on, banging it out in quick succession. “And we repeat. Simple right?”

 

Cheryl nods her agreement. It's certainly more simple than she's used to, rarely ever having to open her mouth, before a fully polished gem of a song is presented to her in the studio. This is as rough a draft as she's ever seen. Toni adjusts the guitar in her lap.

 

“I'll start the verse, two bars then you jump in, okay?”

 

Cheryl nods again, the strangest sensation welling in her stomach, as if she's nervous to croon in a way she never had before. Her eyes scan the lyrics that made Toni think of her, a small flutter in her heart, before the second bar comes and she starts to sing.

 

_I guess I've always been a sentimental fool, when it comes to you, oh baby when it comes to you._

 

They work on the song for hours side by side on her plush sofa, bottle of whiskey slowly emptying with the progress made, until it finally sounds like something Cheryl would actually perform in her stage show. Toni surprises her again, as she pulls a laptop from the bag she'd brought with her, and sets it up to record them. She's got a decent microphone for Cheryl to use, but also captures video with the webcam. Her voice breaks more than once over the takes, but Toni encourages her to push through them rather than stop.

 

“It sounds more, this is going to sound like a cliché, but real. Like you mean it. Like you lived through it.”

 

Cheryl, much to her own chagrin, does not put up an argument. Because as strange as it seems, she can feel what Toni means. The song sounds so much better with a few rough edges on it. The bottle is nearly gone when they record one final take, Cheryl singing the entire time with her head in hand, smiling genuinely toward Toni who is sadly out of frame.

 

“Not going to get much better than that,” Toni insists, when they play it back, and Cheryl readily agrees.

 

They post it to Cheryl's official YouTube page, after much deliberation, the girl herself knowing Genevieve will most likely lose her mind over content that was not approved of or followed through with some kind of marketing plan. A little thrill shoots down her spine at the thought. She doesn't bother to watch the view counter, or the likes, grabbing Toni's hand instead and leading her toward the bedroom.

 

/\

 

The video gets two million views and fifty-thousand likes, in just under two days. Cheryl spends those dodging Genevieve's calls and texts, who no doubt feels the need for some damage control, by hiding away in Toni's small apartment.

 

Cheryl isn't surprised she's putting up a fuss, but doesn't fully understand why she would, because reaction to the song has been immensely positive. Fans are shocked to see her open up in such a casual way, and are actually praising her for it.

 

“It's amazing,” she tells Toni, laying in her ridiculously uncomfortable bed. “How little I actually gave, but how much more they want because of it.”

 

Toni grins at her knowingly.

 

“People want a connection,” she fills in. “Music is just another way to provide one. Especially when it seems like you create it just for them.”

 

Cheryl hums in agreement.

 

“Is this that artistic integrity thing I keep hearing so much about?”

 

Toni shifts forward for a kiss.

 

“Mhmm,” she assures. “The kind my fans now accuse me of lacking, because the rumors that we're an item, just won't die.”

 

Cheryl beams at her.

 

“Is that what we are?”

 

Toni laughs, shifting onto her back.

 

“Asked while sharing my bed,” she gives. “I mean, I know we don't put a label on it, and deny it anytime some nosy reporter asks but I thought-”

 

“We are,” Cheryl interrupts.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Ma Cherie,” she goes on. “Do you really think I would lay here, on this cardboard box you call a bed, if you weren't mine?”

 

Toni laughs again.

 

“Wow,” she sighs. “The pop star spends two days away from her luxurious lifestyle, and the complaints come pouring out.”

 

Cheryl pokes her playfully.

 

“There is nothing wrong with a preference for being comfortable,” she insists. “Or does your artistic integrity forbid you from that?”

 

Toni rolls toward her.

 

“Ooh, those are fighting words, Bombshell.”

 

Cheryl kisses her quick.

 

“Then fight me.”

 

/\

 

Day three in Toni's apartment, and Cheryl's phone dies, having forgotten the charger back at her house. She sits in the middle of the tiny living room, attempting to strum on one of Toni's guitars, even though she'd never bothered to learn. That's where her girl finds her, a small smile on her face, before taking a seat on the spot next to her.

 

“So,” she begins softly. “Your video has been written about by three different music critics.”

 

Cheryl tries a chord, but her fingers are all wrong, a garbled noise coming from the strings.

 

“Don't tell me,” she says. “Bubblegum bitch of a pop princess tries and fails, for a song with meaning.”

 

Toni snorts.

 

“Can I ask you a serious question?”

 

Cheryl eyes her warily.

 

“Do you even like doing what you do? Being who you are?”

 

Cheryl thinks a moment.

 

“I like the attention,” she admits. “The glamour. I love performing.”

 

Toni nods.

 

“But?”

 

“But it does grow tiresome. Singing how they want you to sing. Dancing how they want you do dance. Dressing how they want you to dress.”

 

Cheryl smiles at her.

 

“My manager says you're bad for my image.”

 

Toni bursts out laughing.

 

“Ugh, she sounds like the worst.”

 

“Sometimes,” Cheryl agrees. “But I feel like I owe her, you know? If she hadn't discovered me singing backup for the Pussycats, I might still be in Riverdale. Running my family's syrup business. Living my most mundane life.”

 

Toni bumps her shoulder.

 

“A tragedy of epic proportions.”

 

They're quiet a moment.

 

“My tour starts next week,” Toni says, breaking the silence. “Three whole months.”

 

She leans over for a kiss.

 

“So, are you going to miss me?”

 

Cheryl's head drops to Toni's shoulder.

 

“Absolutely.”

 

/\

 

Three months later Toni knocks on Cheryl's door, who answers with a radiant smile, and a guitar in hand.

 

“Hello beautiful,” she greets.

 

“Hey,” Toni replies, chin jutting toward the guitar. “What's going on there?”

 

Cheryl's smile turns shy.

 

“I've kind of been practicing,” she offers up. “And I might be, you know, writing some songs.”

 

Toni steps closer, pulling Cheryl down for a proper kiss.

 

“I'd love to hear them.”

 

 


End file.
